


The Little Things Give You Away

by Iolre



Category: Strange Days (1995)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Fluff, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 19:01:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1358425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iolre/pseuds/Iolre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mace never could have predicted how much things would change. Or how, in a way, nothing changed at all. Life continued, and although they were different, some things remained the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Little Things Give You Away

**Author's Note:**

> This was a commission for the absolutely lovely [mystradesexytimes](http://mystradesexytimes.tumblr.com)! Thanks again for introducing me to this world and these characters. :)
> 
> I can be commissioned to do a wide variety of stuff! Details are [here](http://iolre.tumblr.com/commissions).
> 
> Enjoy. :) If you haven't seen 'Strange Days' before, I highly recommend it!

They are a right mess, the both of them. Lenny still can not move much of his right side, not without aggravating the still-healing wound on his back. Mace is recovering from the bruises, concussion, and cracked ribs caused by the beating she had received at the party. With the publicity of the arrests, and the knowledge that Mace was responsible for the tape, they check into a dingy hotel under false names. The two officers are dead, that much is true, but Mace does not trust that they do not have friends who are looking out for them. Who want revenge.

She never really gets it out of her head, that image of the policeman so determined to kill her. His blood-stained face, the anger and hatred in his eyes as he pulls his partner’s dead body behind him, gun raised, trying to get close enough to put an end to her life. She has nightmares, sometimes, but she does not talk about them. They make her seem weak. Frightened. She is neither of those.

Instead, a week later, she sits on a ragged couch, Lenny’s head in her lap. He is on his side, his left, trying not to aggravating the still-healing wound. It is their third hotel in a week and both are living out of hastily-packed suitcases. They compile their savings, use what little extra they have, but sooner rather than later they will have to take their chances. Zander is staying with her aunt, is being cared for, looked after. She talks to him on the phone every night, and tells him she misses him. That she will be home soon, once it is safe.

They do not talk about the kiss. What it is, what it means. He does not ask for a backrub. He can’t, not with the gauze patch on his back, covering the gash. Instead, when she sits on the couch, he comes over. Lays down, puts his head on her lap. Looks up at her, with those light-blue eyes. Pleading, until she gives in, cards her hand through his hair, strokes his head. Watches over him until he falls asleep. Some nights they sleep like that, despite the pain the next morning.

“We should go, you know, on a date,” he says one day, two weeks after the party. She looks up at him over the newspaper in her hands, cocking an eyebrow, her lips pursed.

“A date,” she repeats, skeptical.

“Dinner?” he offers, waggling his eyebrows and offering her a hopeful grin from the other side of the shoddy table.

“We don’t have the money,” she says curtly, ignoring the small thrill in her stomach at the notion. A date. “I barely have enough for rent this month.”

“I’ll pay,” he says with a smile. “C’mon, Macy.”

“No.” She shakes her head, braids flying around her face. He studies her face for a moment, sees what is there, and nods.

Two weeks later, they have moved back home. She drives the cars, back at her old job, and tries not to think about Lenny on the street, back to his old trade. It is only a matter of time before the SQUID devices are legal. Before they become commonplace. The thought makes her feel sick. Every moment of human history, recorded for posterity. She is simply grateful that no one recorded what happened to her. She does not want to see it. Doesn’t want to know that someone else could.

It is late at night, the next time. Zander is in bed. She is on the couch, her legs tucked up beneath her. Her ribs have mostly healed, and her head is back to normal. Lenny is nearly as lucky. His full range of motion has been restored, with only minimal pain. He is curled up next to her on the couch, his head in her lap, as close to her as he can be. It is intimate, but not overly so. He is coaxing but not pressuring.

Mace knows what he is going to say before he says it. “Just dinner,” he says, his voice wheedling. She looks at him, and he at her, and his silly, playful smile on his face.

“You pay,” she tells him, her heart thumping oddly in his chest. He grins, momentarily giddy, and then closes his eyes as she strokes her hand through his hair. For a moment, she feels like she will explode, like the feelings are just too much. It scares her, sometimes, how much she loves him. Last time she loved, it destroyed her. Hardened her. She does not want to risk it again. At the same time, she thinks, Lenny is different. He has proved how much he cares, how much he wants her. How much he believes in her.

A few days later, they are sitting in a small cafe, not far from Mace’s work. She has to go in tonight, work a 12-hour shift full of fighting, shouting, and danger. She does not mind. It is less scary than what she is facing now. Lenny sits across from her, a sandwich in front of him, his eyes on her. “Eat, Macy,” he says, and he grins.

She eyes him for a moment, skeptical, lips pursed, and then picks up her sandwich, bites into it. It is awkward, their date, but at the same time, she has known him for a long time, and there is a comfort there that she can draw from. Eventually, she relaxes, even laughing a little as Lenny recounts a story from his childhood about him, a cousin, a bottle of vodka, and the punch at a picnic, and for once, everything is normal.

They finish dinner, Lenny paying as he said he would. Mace watches him, her eyes fond, her stomach tied in knots. Lenny walks her to her car, barters a ride home, and grudgingly, she agrees. The car ride is short, and they pull to a stop at the pavement in front of his grungy domicile. It is an improvement over the last one, Mace thinks, but to her that does not mean much. She clears her throat, and stares out the window. She’s nervous. She should not be nervous. She’s kissed plenty of people before. But this feels different. It means more. It has so much potential.

Mace hears Lenny’s chuckle, and adrenaline surges. She turns, leans over the gear shift, takes his head in her hands, and moves closer. Their eyes meet, and Mace hesitates, just for a moment. She wants to be absolutely sure that it is what they both want. Then she moves in, and their lips meet. It is nothing like their first kiss, like that adrenaline, danger-fueled moment of passion when both of them had repeatedly risked their lives for the sake of the other. For the sake of humanity.

It is gentle and tender, warm and wet, and as Lenny parts his lips, Mace grows more bold. One hand slides down to his neck, the skin warm under her fingers. Her tongue touches his, tentatively at first, and then with more confidence. She makes a little noise in her throat. She wants. She needs, she craves. But she can’t. There’s no time, not yet. There will be time for that later.

She feels his fingers on her neck. Not pressuring, not forcing. But it’s warm, and there, and it makes her skin tingle as their mouths move together. Finally, she pulls back. Not too far, not all the way away, and she tilts her head forward so their foreheads are touching. His eyes are warm, and bright. She does not know what her face shows. What he sees. Whatever it is, it makes him smile. After a moment, she pulls back, checking herself in the mirror. She has a client to pick up, and should not look like she has been kissing in the car like a lovestruck teen.

“Later, Macy,” Lenny tells her, his grin wide and carefree, but his voice is full of promise. He leans close, hand on her neck, and kisses her briefly. Then he gets out of the car, waves good-bye, and saunters into his home as if he has no cares in the world. Mace does not think that is the case. He simply hides it, like she does, until they are home together, his head in her lap, and the world and its problems can be chased away, just for a moment.

As she drives around her clients that night, she thinks. Thinks about how home never feels like home unless Lenny is there. How she feels safe when he is around. A ludicrous thing, considering she could beat him in almost every fight. So many thoughts, swirling round her mind. It leaves her vulnerable. Distracted. It gets her in trouble, just once, when she is protecting her client from a gang of thugs who are determined to break into her car. She gets a knife too close to her face and she feels blood trickle down her cheek. Careless.

Still, she has been hurt worse, and eventually the bleeding stops. Whenever her mind threatens to wander she pats herself on the cheek, sending a jolt of pain through her body. The adrenaline keeps her moving, keeps her alert, and she finishes her shift without any more incidents. She goes back to her house, kisses Zander good morning, thanks her aunt, and collapses into bed. Adrenaline cannot keep her awake any longer and she quickly falls asleep.

Mace dreams of red-faced men chasing her, menacing. She is in danger, but she cannot escape. Burning lines of pain erupt on her skin, and she shudders but does not scream. She learned to withstand torture years ago. She will not break. A hand on her shoulder jolts her awake and it takes all of her self-control not to snap, not to break that tenuous contact that frightens her so. She is not weak, she is strong, and nightmares will not ruin her.

“Good morning,” she tells Zander, kisses his forehead. He nods, and there is concern on his face, yet he does not ask. That she has said good morning in the afternoon is worrisome on its own. She glances outside. It is late, too late, but not late enough. Her phone rings before she can do anything more, and with a roll of his eyes Zander leaves. “Hello?” Mace says, skeptical already.

“Macy!” Lenny’s cheerful voice is on the other end of the line. She can tell from the background noise he is at a bar. Her nose wrinkles the slightest amount, her nostrils flare. He is likely with a client, then, peddling his - clips. That is the one thing she cannot stand, as much as he likes it. Or did.

Since that night, she has not seen him use the SQUID device once. She is just thankful he is not using it around her. “What?” she asks, her voice raspy from sleep. “You’re not in trouble, are you, Lenny?” Her voice is skeptical. “If you are, I’m not bailing you out this time,” she says, knowing that she will. If he calls, if he needs her, she will be there. It was an instinct she gave up fighting years ago.

“Nothin’,” he says simply. She pulls the phone away from her ear and stares at it, her brow knitted in concentration.

“Lenny, what are you doing?” Mace asks again, her voice sharper.

“Oops, gotta run, Macy. I’ll call you later.” She can hear his wide, cheerful grin, and then the line goes dead and she is left to wonder what just happened. Part of her wants to go get in the car and hunt him down. Make sure he is okay. Protect him. But she doesn’t. Instead, she goes about her evening. Makes dinner. Helps Zander with his homework. For a few, brief moments, she is a Mom, not a bodyguard, or a driver, or - whatever she is to Lenny. She is simply her.

Zander is in bed and she is doing exercises in the living room when her phone rings. “Hello?” she says, her voice curt.

“I bought dinner,” he says. His voice is tired. There is a hint of fear that she does not like.

“I’ll be right over,” she replies.

“No.” Mace can hear his head-shake over the line. “Meet me at the hotel.” He gives her the address.

“What did you get into?” She tries to sound exasperated, frustrated. Instead, she sounds worried, her anger tempered by concern.

“Nothing, Macy, I promise.” That carefree smile is radiant, even when she cannot see it, and a small smile of her own comes unbidden to her lips.

“You’re paying,” she tells him, and he groans in comic defeat.

“You wound me,” he replies. Although she wants to smile, she is sad. His agreement means he has money and there is only one way he gets it. Still, they are going to eat together, spend the night together. Her skin feels hypersensitive, already aware of the possibilities, and she is near giddy with anticipation.

“I’ll be there,” she says.

He gives her the address and then hangs up. A quick phone call to her aunt, and Zander is cared for through the night. She will not have to worry, nor will she have to come home. She dresses carefully, tight leather pants, a warm, but not constrictive set of sleeveless tops. It is unusually hot for this late at night. Not that the cold bothers her much. She takes the time to twist her braids up and secure them off her neck. Nothing special, not too much, but enough that she feels elegant, with the added advantage that it makes her hair more difficult to grab in a fight.

The hotel Lenny directs her to is one they have not stayed at before, and her heart sinks the tiniest bit. It is more expensive than she had anticipated, and all she can think about is what he did to pay for it. The experiences he bestowed upon people. What would have happened if someone had been wearing a SQUID device, had recorded that party. What it would feel like, seeing the events, over and over. Memories are meant to fade, she told him, and that is something she strongly believes in.

He is waiting for her, just inside. She walks over and stands next to him. Her eyes meet him, and after calculating for a few, brief seconds, Mace leans in and presses a brief kiss to his lips. He grins. “So what did you sell, to be able to afford this place?” she asks, unable to keep the small amount of anger out of her voice.

Lenny’s hand is on her arm, comforting, and it is oddly reassuring. “Nothing,” he tells her. “There was a reward for information leading to Jeriko One’s murderer.”

“That’s how you’re paying for this?” she asks flatly. Her eyes are intent on his face. He is the best liar she has ever met, but she knows his tells. His gaze does not waver.

“I know you don’t like the tapes,” he explains. She nods, once, and smiles. He grins his infectious grin and leads the way to the desk, where they get their room number, and he pays. “Most of this money’s yours, Macy. You delivered the tape.”

“I don’t want it,” Mace replies cooly. She wants nothing to do with those discs. Nothing to do with what happened that night. She will work her job for the rest of her life if she has to. He can have it all. He is silent for a few moments, studying her, and she does not flinch. Instead she turns around to survey the hotel, categorizing all of its differences. She is not sure she will ever be in a place like this again.

Lenny walks towards the stairs, catches her eyes, and Mace nods. Neither of them are fond of elevators. A single metal box, with no exit point except more metal. It just doesn’t seem secure. Their room is on the third floor. Close enough that if they need to, they can jump, and have a reasonable chance of survival. He reaches out and catches her hand, and Mace glances at him, startled, but allows it. Their fingers twine together and, side by side, they start up the stairs, eyes alert, darting everywhere, just in case.

“Where’s dinner?” she asks as they enter the long hallway. It is nice, with surprisingly plush carpets. They give, just slightly, under her feet.

There is a slight pinging noise as the elevator opens, and a delivery man steps out. Mace lets go of Lenny’s hand and shifts, her shoulders going back, one foot behind the other to center her balance. It is habit, just in case, for she does not know the person bearing what is obviously takeout. Lenny gives the man some notes and takes the bag with a nod and a thank you. “Right here,” he tells her, and she rolls her eyes.

“You just got lucky,” she says. He leads them to a room and unlocks it with the card key.

“Maybe,” he agrees. Mace rolls her eyes and walks into the room. It is spacious and well-lit, with a single, large bed in the middle. She looks from it to him and he winks. She rolls her eyes and surveys the room, seeing the small table and the balcony. It makes her uneasy, how easy it is to tip over and into oblivion, especially when she remembers just how close Lenny has come to that ending. “I’m here,” he says, as if he can read what she is thinking, and he draws her into his arms and kisses her until she is breathless.

“Dinner,” she reminds him, and attempts to scold. He chuckles, grins, and they sit. This time there is a marked difference. She is relaxed and carefree, ignoring any sort of potential danger. They are as safe as they can be, and she draws comfort from that. This time she is the one that tells a story, recounting tales of Zander’s childhood before Lenny had come into their life. Back when things were not always good, but they were not always bad either. Zander has always done well enough, no matter what he faced.

They finish, almost, and Mace rustles through the carton for one last bite of her favorite dish. She looks up to see Lenny watching her, and there is a fondness there, a tenderness that she does not normally see. Underneath it is a heat, a desire, and she swallows, her throat suddenly dry. Her pulse accelerates. Her heart is beating rapidly. It is something she has wanted for a long time, and suddenly it seems to be within her grasp.

Lenny stands, and she sets aside the carton and watches as he walks around the small table, stopping in front of her. She looks up at him, and for once, she trusts, and holds nothing back. He reaches up with a gentle hand and undoes the clip holding her braids, his eyes following as they fall down her back and onto her shoulders. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, and his voice is low, husky. It makes her knees tremble, and for a moment, she is afraid to stand.

He clasps one of her hands and tugs. She stands, and despite the height difference, at that moment they are equals. He reaches out and carefully tucks her bangs behind her ears. His fingers are warm as they touch her skin, tracing little lines of fire. She swallows. His eyes are locked onto hers, and even if she wanted to, she cannot look away. He leans down the last few inches, and then his lips are against hers, pliant and coaxing, and it is not long before her lips part to match his and her eyes close.

She feels too warm, like her clothing is just too much. Their mouths move together, tongues touching shyly and then with more confidence as Mace slowly relaxes into the kiss. Soon she is flush against him, his body against hers. His hands trail down her body, over her breasts, down her stomach, until he slips fingers underneath the hem of her shirt, questioning. She breaks the kiss, pulling back a small amount, but she makes eye contact and maintains it.

It is not a strip tease, nothing like it, but Mace trails her hands down to where Lenny’s are still on her middle and slides her hands underneath the cloth before she pulls up, tugging off her shirts. His hands move up from her hips, dragging across the skin of her belly, before he cups her breasts, and she cannot help the hitch in her breath. Slowly his thumbs circle her nipples, the sensation dulled by the fabric. His eyes are on her breasts now, pupils blown wide with arousal, and he is worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.

“Your turn,” she says, and he looks up at her, brows briefly knitting together in confusion before he realizes what she means. He chuckles and she purses her lips, lifts her eyebrows. He raises his hands in mock deference and begins to slowly undo the buttons on his shirt. Each movement of his fingers is swift and sure, but at the same time he takes his time with it, and each button bares more of his undershirt than was previously visible. She crosses her arms as he slides his shirt off and tosses it to the side. “I’m waiting,” Mace tells him. She tries to sound no-nonsense, but instead there is an undercurrent of impatience, of desire.

“Impatient, Macy?” he teases, and quickly reaches down and pulls his shirt off. Her eyes are drawn to his bare chest. She has seen him shirtless before, but it was always to patch him up, or the rare time she found him strung out and dirty, alone in his flat and too far gone to even care. This time, it was different. This time it was for her, and for her alone.

“Bastard,” she mutters, but her words hold no insult, just affection. Her hands reach out and slide over the warm skin, fingers tracing the outline of scars and smudges. He has a birthmark on his middle, like a splotch of paint. She touches it carefully, notes the faint difference in texture, and is distracted as he gently grasps her hands and tugs her close, claiming her lips with his.

They are pressed against each other, and Mace’s hands settle on his hips, holding him closer. He is hard against her, even through the thick denim of her jeans. His lips move with hers, lazy, sensual. Neither are in a hurry. They have all night, and she is certain they will cherish all of it. One of Lenny’s hands walks up her back, a strange two-finger motion that has her chuckling against his lips as they kiss. “Show off,” she murmurs, and pulls back so she can lift an eyebrow as he undoes the clasp of her bra one-handed.

He offers her one of his silly grins and then slowly, meticulously slides the straps of her bra down her arms, and her breasts are bared for him to see. She doesn’t feel self conscious, no matter that she thinks she should. There is a level of vulnerability between them, now, of openness that did not exist a month prior. Things have changed, and they have changed with it. Suddenly she is moving, and he is walking them towards the bed. She wraps her arms around his neck to steady herself, and Lenny carefully maneuvers her so that the backs of her knees are touching its edge.

“Ladies first,” he says, and she rolls her eyes, a smile on her face. She waits for him to step back, and he does. Quickly she undoes her pants and tugs them down, stepping out of them so she can kick them aside. She stops to watch, however, as he unzips his jeans and slides them down his hips. He manages a little wiggle, a sly smile, and she is surprised when it makes her laugh. She hooks her fingers underneath the hem of her underwear and is stopped by his hands on her wrists. A quick shake of his head has her letting go, and her arms fall to her side. “You’re quiet.”

“I always am,” she replies. It is not a challenge, is not meant to be one, but she can see the shift on his face, that he takes it as one. He grins, and slowly crouches down until he is kneeling in front of her. She looks down at him, one eyebrow raised. His eyes are mostly pupil, now, with a rim of blue, and she swallows as he hooks his thumbs in the hem of her undergarments and slides them down her legs, not breaking eye contact. She is wet, but not dripping, and she tilts her head to look at the ceiling once he turns to look at what he has uncovered.

“Gorgeous,” he muses, and then he stands. She is surprised to notice somehow he took off his boxers in the few moments she was not paying attention. For a moment, they stand there and look at each other. He is strong and wiry, scars dotting his skin but not diminishing its light tan. His cock is fully erect, a drop of precome on the tip, and part of her wants to lick him, to see what he tastes like. Her attention is drawn by his hands on her shoulders, and he gently tilts her onto the bed. “Scoot up?” he suggests, and she does so, propped up on her elbows near the head of the bed as she watches him stand there and study her for a moment.

Then he is crawling onto the bed, and he settles against her. The height difference is less obvious lying down, and for that she is grateful. He kisses her, his lips warm against hers, and she smiles when he stops, her eyes warm. She bites her bottom lip as he kisses a trail from the corner of her lips to just under her ear, and her fingers jerk on the bed as he kisses and nibbles a particularly sensitive spot. He lets out a breathy laugh against her skin, and kisses a trail from below her ear down her neck, licking and nibbling the spots that make her moan softly, her head tilting back and her braids pooling on the bed underneath her. “Good, good,” he murmurs. His facial hair is scraping lightly against her hypersensitized skin, and she feels too warm all over. She starts to say something but is distracted, biting back a moan as his tongue circles one of her nipples.

Mace tightens her grip on the bed, determined to stay quiet. She is not sure why, but she will do it anyway. He takes her nipple into his mouth and sucks gently, and she inhales sharply, biting her lip and digging her nails into her palms as a distraction. It is too much sensation at once, and it is overwhelming. She can feel him grin against her, and she cannot help a quiet whimper as he releases her nipple to tease at the other. The cool air on one contrasts with his wet mouth on the other, and he is sucking, teasing, and she arches into it, tossing her head back. “God,” she says, breathless.

He pulls off. “Not quite,” he tells her, and she rolls her eyes.

“Don’t stop,” she orders, and he scoffs against her skin. He kisses the skin right between her breasts and then kisses a trail down her middle. She knows where he is going, and she flops down onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. He kisses her hipbones, each in turn, and then his warm mouth leaves her skin. She lets out a displeased noise, but does not move. Her nerves are alight, all afire, waiting to see what he will do next.

He lifts one of her legs, and kisses his way from her knee to the inside of her thigh. She whimpers in protest, arching her back, tilting her hips. “Impatient, Macy,” he chides, and she wants to scowl but does not as he gives her other leg the same treatment. She is so wet, now, and all she wants is his mouth.

“You say that now,” she mutters, and he chuckles as he nudges apart her legs, leaving her feet on the bed.

“Oh, you’ll be saying a lot, soon.” His voice is wicked, and she lifts her head to scowl, but instead she gasps as his hands are on her and are followed by his tongue. It is not what she expected, not at all. She would have expected something slow and sweet, tantalizing and torturous. Instead, Lenny is methodical and far more, and he licks and sucks until she is writhing on the sheets and making noises she is certain were words at one point.

He gently nudges her legs aside, and suckles on her clit. She whimpers and moans, reduced to pure need as he slowly pushes a finger inside her. It is starting to be too much, and as he starts to slide first one finger, then two, in and out, his mouth continuing to tease the most sensitive part of her, she lifts a hand and slides it into his hair so he cannot get away. Her legs come off the bed and wrap around him, keeping him close, and she is making incoherent begging noises. All she wants is more, he cannot stop. He sucks harder, swipes his tongue over her clit, twists his fingers, and, for a moment, it feels like the world explodes as she clenches around his fingers and comes.

She is breathing heavily when she opens her eyes, and her head feels too heavy to lift to look down at Lenny. “Good?” he asks, as if it is the most natural thing in the world. She lets out a short laugh, and he presses a kiss to her inner thigh. “Good.”

“God,” is all she can say, and her chest is still heaving. He crawls up until he can kiss her, and she can taste herself on his lips.

“Not quite,” he says. This time she laughs, wrapping an arm around him and drawing him close until he is on top of her. Then they are kissing again, lazy and sweet, and it is everything Mace hoped for and more. He pulls back after a few minutes, and frowns slightly, looking about the room. “Where’d my pants go?”

“You took them off,” she tells him, confused.

“Condom,” he says. She relaxes in understanding.

“Over there.” She flicks a hand towards the side of the bed, and he scrambles to dig through his pockets, pulling out the condom with a wide grin of victory. She smiles as she watches him, unable to resist the levity that he can inject into any situation. It is a quality she loves about him, even when it ends up with them in trouble. He tears it open and slides it onto himself before he crawls back onto the bed, kissing her gently.

“Hello,” he says, and instead of answering, she captures his lips with hers. They kiss for long, lazy moments, mouths and tongues in sync, before he shifts and the head of his cock presses against her. He lifts his head to look at her, and she nods, shifting slightly so that she is comfortable. Him inside her is not uncomfortable, not in the slightest, but she is grateful that he takes his time, for the intimacy is what scares her.

She is used to taking care of herself, and at the moment, she is utterly vulnerable. It feels strange, him inside her, because it has been a long time since she has opened herself up to another person. Her breath hitches as he pulls out and slowly presses back in. His eyes are on her face, searching and studying, measuring every little reaction. Oddly, to her, she likes being under such scrutiny, likes being able to look into his eyes as he thrusts into her body.

It is a slow, punishing rhythm, and she wraps her legs around his hips so that he cannot stop. Her hips rock with his, and it changes the angle, and she shudders. She slides a hand down her body, and slowly circles her clit. He is breathing faster, and she can feel his body tense against hers. She bites back a noise, tilts her hips up, and he groans, his head on her shoulder, his body flush against hers. Her orgasm is nearing, she can feel her body tensing, and the pleasure is starting to gather and build. She shifts, just a little more, grazes the edge of her clit, and he thrusts, harder this time, and she tightens her legs, letting out a whimper then a moan as she comes.

Her chest is heaving as she opens her eyes, and he is continuing to thrust in and out of her body. His movements are more erratic, shorter, and he is almost there. She leans up and kisses him, strokes her arms down his body, twists slightly. His lips are open, and he is gasping against her. “Come for me,” she murmurs. He moans, thrusts once, twice more, and then shudders against her.

Lenny lays on her for a moment more, before he pulls out, attending to the condom and tossing it into the trash bin before he lays back next to her. “Don’t want to crush you,” he assures her, and she merely lifts an eyebrow before she rolls so that she is half on top of him.

“Don’t think you’re escaping that fast,” Mace tells him, and he grins at her, wide and open. She is sleepy, now, but enjoying laying against him. His hand is stroking up and down her back, and it is oddly soothing. They lay in silence for a long while, and nothing is said, for nothing has to be. Then he is rolling her over, and kissing her, and it repeats itself.

Eventually they end up curled together, Mace’s back to Lenny’s chest, and his arm wrapped possessively around her middle, holding her close to him. Her braids have been secured with their clip, up off her neck, because she cannot sleep otherwise. He is nuzzling the soft, exposed skin of the back of her neck, and for now she feels safe. Both of them are boneless and content, but neither says a word. Mace breathes in and out, and for a moment she does not worry, for nothing, no one can get her.

She lays her arm over his, _I love you_. He tightens his grip, draws her closer, kisses the back of her neck, _I love you too_. And like that, they sleep.


End file.
